Disclaimer - All characters are copyright Mike Mignola and Dark Horse Entertainment.
Notes – This is based off of the BPRD comic series. If you've only seen the movie, then you will probably be lost. As well, there are spoilers in this piece; if you haven't read the two recent story titles, don't read passed this.
It's been a long while since I've written fanfiction, so I apologize for any Out of Character moments. It happens, I suppose. I'm also sorry for any grammatical errors. They slide through, no matter how many times I proofread.
Summary – Despite the ruckus of events, the BPRD agents are able to find something to be thankful for.
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"The coffee's cold."
Liz didn't stop at Kate's word, but instead took hold of one of the Bureau's branded mugs that were always stacked by the coffee maker. It didn't matter if the brew was cold; Corrigan had forgotten for a moment that Liz's pyrokenetic ability was more than enough to reheat the drink. After filling the mug to the brim and warming the coffee, Liz sat down at the table. She sat across from her friend, glancing up once to see Kate scribbling down madly on a notepad that she always seemed to have with her. Were those wild marks and symbols actual words, or was the blue pen just doodling whatever passed the agent's mind?
Liz Sherman didn't know, but didn't bother to ask what was being written down. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and looked around the table. Kate's mug was empty, save for a few stains that remained at the bottom. To her other side, perhaps more interesting, was an empty plate. It wasn't until then did Liz see the tin platter at the center of the table, almost blending in too well.
"What's with the pumpkin pie?"
Kate looked up from her insane doodling in time to stare at the pie. "It's a gift from Manning and the Bureau," she answered with a smile, picking up the fork that had rested peacefully on her plate. "One of the other agents made it." Her smile tilted only for a moment as she noticed the faintly puzzled expression etched on her friend's face. "Hello – Thanksgiving, Liz."
The other woman rolled her shoulders back, pushing her red hair behind her ear before taking another sip of her beloved drink. "Right, right…" She waited a minute, stirring the coffee around the mug in a little whirlpool; it wasn't the most fascinating thing happening in the room, but she was too sheepish to respond right away. "I'd forgotten."
Liz had forgotten a lot of things. It really was Thanksgiving. It was November. Stepping outside of the Bureau could have been an instant indicator. Being up in the Rockies meant that the agency was already covered in deep snow and ice. Blizzards were going to take some getting used to from the tamer weather of the old building's location. It was constantly cold. The place was so old, she was uncertain of just how well the heat worked. Having so much untapped fire inside of her made her overlook that sometimes.
"Yeah, it's been a little hectic." Kate almost regretted mentioning anything negative to Liz, or any of the other agents. Life at the BPRD had not been peaceful for years, and no one could push those bugging memories and dreams about frogs and fungus gods from their minds. The Dragon was unleashing madness through its children, and human beings everywhere were suffering for it. Masked personas were rising from no where, and causing more hell on what used to be called earth. If citizens didn't meet their end by monsters and crazed creatures, then they would turn into the very frogs that were terrorizing them. People were dying. A lot of people were dying. It's no wonder the agents lost track of time, forgot what times were supposed to be joyous.
Seeing that Liz was not responding, Kate brushed her smile back up in time to push the platter over to the agent. "Help yourself. A little pumpkin pie can do wonders, and isn't that something to be thankful for?" She laughed a little as she caught her own cliché. It seemed worth it. She caught a curve on Liz's lips before another plate was retrieved from the cabinet.
Sherman said nothing as she cut herself a slice. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly hungry, but she knew Kate wouldn't leave her alone unless she had a bite of it. Another agent did take the time to make it, after all. Setting it down on a small plate, she picked slowly at the crust with the steel fork. It wasn't until she successfully broke off the edges did she finally speak. "Something to be thankful for…"
"Maybe thankful was a little too much," Kate Corrigan chuckled again, walking over to the pie plate. Cutting off another small slice, she shrugged. "I guess I wanted to crack that gem sometime today."
Liz didn't laugh back. "Something to be thankful for…"
"Pardon me."
Both women cast a glance over their shoulders in time to see a visitor approach the entrance. He wasn't difficult to identify, with his baggy appearance and bubbled head. His movements were thick and from first glance clumsy from the rubber suit. But, he was a welcomed sight to all of the agents, a gentleman in many ways.
Kate pulled up a chair for the newcomer. "Come in, Johann. You never have to ask."
The disembodied spiritualist took the offer, sitting himself quietly between Kate and Liz. He quickly noticed the pumpkin pie sitting in front of him, and the two full plates by his companion's sides. Slightly confused, the bubbled head turned towards his left side, tilting slightly to give as much physical gesture to match his state of mind. "There is a meeting, Katherine?"
"What?" Realizing the question, she took her seat with a shacking of the head. "Oh, no. No, it's just a little Thanksgiving meal." Had Johann the ability to eat, Kate would have quickly offered the snack.
"Ah, ja. The Thanksgiving." Being German, Johann Kraus did not keep up with all traditionally American holidays. He had little place in that season, and did not even know the real tales of English pilgrims' meetings with American natives. Then again, history of other cultures was not his forte, nor did he ever want it to be. His abilities as a medium had allowed him to come into contact with a different variety of races and people of different origins; until he joined the Bureau that was the limit of his knowledge. Living in Connecticut and then in Colorado for several years helped. He now was at least familiar with the timeline of special events and periods.
When in America, do as the Americans do.
"That's right, German's don't celebrate Thanksgiving, do they?" Liz sipped more of her coffee, always keeping it hot and fresh through her special means. She felt as though she was stating the obvious, but small talk had to start somewhere.
Johann raised a gloved hand in a round gesture. "In a way. We are always thankful for what we have. We do not need a day to signify that."
"We aren't just grateful on this one day." Kate explained after swallowing a bite of the pie. Her manners were excellent, no matter how busy she was. It was something to be proud of, but sometimes Johann believed he was the only one who ever noticed. "It's just a good time to have a nice, quiet-down time. No matter what's going around and buzzing about, we can count on at least one day for us to sit and think about what's good in the world right now."
Liz's mind wondered back to the thought. "We just find what we're thankful for." It was a phrase that was not going to leave her head that day, she could be certain. The pie before her remained uneaten. Her coffee was running low, but she still could not bring herself to touch the food. The lady wasn't queasy, didn't have an upset stomach. There wasn't anything physical holding her back from consuming the piece of pumpkin pie on the plate. Nothing physical. "Maybe when I figure out what to be thankful for," she thought to herself. It should have been an easy, Thanksgiving-family-special answer to fill in. It bothered her that it wasn't so simple.
A lot of things were bothering her. Too bad she didn't share Kate's or Johann's optimistic attitudes. The two seemed to be able to see the light in a tunnel, no matter how dark or deep it was. Lucky them.
"What are you thankful for, Katherine?"
This attracted both Kate's and Liz's attention, even though the question was only directed at one. The former smiled again, running one hand trough her thick, blonde hair as she thought. "Well," she began with a thoughtful glance towards the German, "first I have to say I'm pretty damn thankful that we can even be having this conversation. With those frog monsters on the loose, it's amazing we're not out in the field as we're speaking. Having some days away from that is doing a lot of good."
She stopped to eat another mouthful of pie. Liz finished off her coffee, and Johann waited patiently for the field commissioner to conclude her bite. After a quick wipe from a paper napkin, Kate continued on. "I'm thankful that we're here. You know, me, you, Liz, all of the agents." She took another moment to broaden her smile, eyes closing halfway in recollection. "Somewhere, I know Hellboy is alive and well. I know he's thinking about us. I'm thankful that we'll eventually all be back together, again. Someday."
"Except Roger…" Liz instantly regretted opening her mouth, if not only just for reawakening the sore and tender memories that still plagued her head. She put her mug down, and knew that burning feeling in her eyes were tears – not her fire.
Kate regretted bringing up the painful reminiscences, even by accident. "None of us can say just how long we have left, especially with this apocalypse striking down. If we can just have moments, little moments like this, I think it can help boost our moralities up."
"Leave it to you to be the philosopher, Corrigan."
Liz Sherman recognized the voice, and slammed her fork down a little too hard. Entering the kitchen, Benjamin Daimio cast an eye view over the collected bunch of agents. He noticed the pie on the table, two of the three people eating from it. Hesitating an obvious question, he put down the manila folder he had carried securely under his shoulder on the table. He picked up a mug, and picked up the coffee maker. It only ended in disappointment as he shoved it back into place after a conclusion:
"Why the hell isn't there any hot coffee?!"
Liz didn't offer to heat him a cup.
Kate shrugged her shoulders slightly, flipping trough the pages of her notebook in haste. "The coffee's been cold a while, Captain. Help yourself to some pumpkin pie, though."
"We are having a Thanksgiving meal," added Johann.
"Yeah, I can see that." Defeated on a quick source of caffeine, the captain claimed a canned soda from the company refrigerator before sitting himself down at the table. Taking one of the plates, he cut himself a slice of the prize food. Not bothering to ask where it came from – for he could have easily guessed – he began eating. With each chew, he kept a balled fist near to the left side of his face; with his cheek slashed clear off, the sight of him eating food was none to pleasing to watch. At least he had learned to keep it all inside, a problem that took a month to conquer.
It wasn't until he was several bites down did he retrieve his folder. "News from the geeks downstairs. The frog nasties were spotted heading towards the east…"
"We're trying to avoid that subject today." Liz knew the moment she spoke that an overreaction was going to happen.
"Avoid the subject?" Ben cast the pyrokenetic a hard look, but before he could react further, the spiritualist spoke up.
"For today, Captain. We were discussing what to be thankful for today. It is your Thanksgiving, and Katherine suggested time off of this tension could do us well."
The captain's thick eyebrows narrowed down, his scared sneer curving up. "Tell these people you couldn't think about their well beings." He took the handful of photos that were stuffed into the folder and cast them across the table in a heated mess. The pictures depicted the resulting effects left behind from the frog monsters on people. They looked more like corpses, frozen forever in time with boils and drained skin stretched over mangled skeletons. "Tell everyone that you couldn't do a thing about the frogs because you were too busy taking time off to be 'thankful'." Ben Daimio's words hit the group hard, but Kate and Johann knew the man was truly thinking of what was best for the world – just not for the people who had to protect it. "I got news for you. These things aren't gonna give a crap that today's Thanksgiving. These monsters don't celebrate the holidays, that's for damn sure."
Liz stood up quickly, hustling over to the coffee maker for a new cup. Daimio wanted to respond when the woman heated her mug, but for the first time when entering the room, he decided against it. It wasn't worth the arguing.
"We understand that, Captain." Kate's voice never raised, nor did her attitude. Liz could never understand how anyone could keep their calm around a man as cross and hard as Benjamin Daimio, but Kate managed to accomplish it. Instead of becoming angry, she handed the captain the notebook she had been scribbling into earlier. "I spoke with Agent Locke today. I've figured that the frogs are looking for specific areas. If we can somehow find the pattern, their migration pattern, then we'd have a better idea on how to prepare ahead. Going after them now would be just like stepping into a dark room blindfolded." Noticing the look she was receiving, Corrigan continued. "I really don't like this anymore than you do. Look how hard it's been on everyone. We're no closer to stopping these things today than we were ten months ago. We can't save the world in one afternoon, Captain."
The last words slapped hard, even if Kate didn't mean for them to. The offered notebook was taken, and the scattered pictures collected back into something that could be called a clean pile. Ben Daimio looked down at his piece of pie, reflecting for five full minutes. As Kate continued with her food and Liz sat down it seemed like an eternity. "We ain't gonna have nothing to be thankful for until every one of those things is blasted back to hell."
A coffee mug slammed onto the table, spilling the top of its burning contents about the rim.
"Jesus, Daimio, can't you just be thankful for being alive at this point?" Liz could feel her temper rising, and she hated that the man in front of her had this kind of control over her emotions. They never agreed on anything. Why should the holidays and seasons change that? Did she really think they would?
Everyone understood that Liz was referring to Roger's death. The disastrous event filled the Bureau heavily, still. The Homunculus's murder hit all of the extraordinary agents hard, each reacting differently in his or her own way. Liz could feel herself shaking at any given time, whenever her friend's image crossed her thoughts. She had been close to the man, bonded with him in a way she hardly thought possible. In some ways, she thought each of the BPRD's peculiar agents were invincible. Hellboy had endured anything thrown at him. She and others had even survived death, as hard as that was for a normal person to believe. Knowing the Black Flame had utterly destroyed most of Roger's body, knowing that Roger wanted to be left at piece – it was all a dose of unwanted reality. It hit Liz like a rock. A big rock.
This time, Kate said nothing. She still berated herself for not grabbing the Marquis' book when she had the chance. The one book that could have held the knowledge to restore the Homunculus's body, probably destroyed in the massive fire. Had she thought faster, maybe there would have been a way to bring Roger back. But, she had hesitated. That was the fact. No amount of "what if" was going to change what happened, and it helped not to dwell on those thoughts. She had tried her best.
It left everyone raw and emotional – even the stoic and aggressive Daimio.
It was Johann Kraus who replied. Had he a face, he would have smiled kindly, sympathetically to his teammates and friends. "I am thankful that Roger is happy where he is."
Since he could not grin, Liz's lips circled for him, smiling truly for the first time since entering the kitchen. That was a comforting, warming thought, no matter how much it hurt.
Captain Daimio popped the top off of his soda, eyebrows rising in realization. "I guess that's something to be thankful for," he muttered. Behind his put-off exterior, Daimio was pleased to know that the Homunculus had some kind of peace. Johann's news about the last encounter and burial had been vague, but it was enough to put him at ease and give closure. Despite all that had occurred between him and all of the agents of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, he had liked Roger.
"Elizabeth." All attention turned back to the German man, who in turn tilted his bubble head in the agent in question's direction. "You have not spoken of what you are grateful for."
Finally feeling corned, knowing Johann's, Kate's, and Daimio's eyes were locked on her, Liz picked up her fork. She did not answer at first, but started picking at the pumpkin pie. It was such an easy question, for she knew exactly what to say. Something to be thankful for: her friends were alive, and even poor Roger was happy. The Bureau was trying its hardest to find a solution to stopping the frog monsters. There was always the chance that Hellboy was going to walk in the door one day, complaining about beating the crap out of God knows what kind of demons and ghosts.
Instead, she looked back up and let her slight smile fade. "Where's Abe?"
Abraham Sapien felt at loss of heart, again. It was a common feeling, more familiar by the day. Had he the emotion, he would have hated feeling like that. Time was not healing sore wounds, and those creepy feelings of depression lingered on long passed their allotted time. Yet, they remained. There had been days when he would have been out and about, either at field work or at least with one of his freakish companions. That day was not this day – not even a special day was given room from his problems.
Rather than comforting himself with light and company, the fish man stared into the eyes of the photograph before him. His wife. The words still spun a web of heaviness in his chest. His wife. "Edith…" What were the Thanksgivings like when he was Langdon Caul? Had the Victorian man spent them with his wife, or did he occupy his time around paranormal activities? Had they even celebrated Thanksgiving then?
He wanted to remember. More than anything at the moment, he wanted to remember. He longed to recall Edith's touch, her real touch. How had her living flesh felt against him? Was it warm? Comforting? Why had he ruined that life by joining the occult? Why hadn't he stayed with Edith, lived a long and joyful existence? What drew him away from that life, the embrace of his love?
He wanted to remember why. He wanted to remember what. He wanted to remember anything.
Reaching over his desk, he picked up the small, metal frame. The thought of how cold it was to the touch conquered so much of his mind that he failed to hear the first set of knocks at the door.
"Abe?"
He said nothing, but continued to look into the picture. The eyes of the photo had a power of their own, and the amphibious agents could not bring himself to look away.
"Abe, it's me."
The knocks stopped, no more noise coming from the outside but a small clutter of metal touching metal. It was only then did Abe Sapien look up and glance at his door. Keeping the frame clutched in one hand, he walked over and turned the knob. It was too late. His visitor had left, no other words spoken. Had he not caught it out of the corner of his eye, the fish man would have missed the object sitting at the foot of entrance. Reaching down with his free hand, he scooped it up.
A plate with a piece of pumpkin pie.
Bringing the food inside, Abe set both it and the photograph on the wooden desk, both pieces making small clunks on contact. Thinking not on how the offering had made its way to his living quarters, he focused on the piece of paper tucked neatly between the cut crust and plate. Pulling it out and shaking off any mess, Abe's eyes curved up.
"Something to be thankful for.
Happy Thanksgiving – Liz."
Sapien found himself blinking more times than he remembered, and he didn't know how many times he read the message. All he could make sense of was slipping the note into one of his books, putting on a shirt, taking hold of the plate, and walking out of the room.
But not before glancing back once more at the picture.
"Something to be thankful for" That was all he could think of saying before closing the door.
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